The Reaping
by junkpuppet225
Summary: Peeta's POV on the morning of The Reaping.


The Reaping: Peeta's POV.

Rating: G

Summary: Peeta's POV on the morning of The Reaping.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this fanfic nor am I making any money from the writing of this fanfic.

A/N: Please review and may your words be ever in my favor.. ;)

I wake up with a groan; the same way I have for the past sixteen years; drenched in my own sweat and miserable. I look around the small room at my brothers; they obviously have a higher tolerance for the heat because they are both snoring in unison and unphased by the over worked ovens downstairs or the fact that it's reaping day.

Sean, the oldest of three at nineteen is laying sprawled out on his back taking in deep breaths of hot air before expelling it back into the room we share while Jonah stays curled in a protective ball at the foot of the bed looking innocent enough but snoring none the less. I doubt he's slept a full hour, unlike Sean seventeen year old Jonah still has a handful of slips in today's reaping ball to pick from. More slips then Sean ever had to enter but a significantly less amount then my own name. After the mine explosion a few years ago our family bakery has fell in profit so I took it upon myself to sign up for tesserae once a year for the five of us since I turned 14. Most people in the seam would be surprised to know that my name will be on eighteen pieces of paper in that reaping ball today.

Luckily for me and my brother, most of the people that live in the seam have had their name entered fifty times or more so the odds are still in our favor. Not that I've ever considered myself to be very lucky at all so this thought doesnt get my hopes up very high. Sometimes I find myself wondering why our parents continue to reproduce with The Hunger Games hanging over their children's heads but then I remember how hard we work in the bakery and how my father couldn't never physically do it by himself.

With that thought I push myself from the thin mattress and make my way downstairs where it's only three hundred degrees, a cool spring morning if you ask me. The smell of raisin bread fills my very being once I make it into the kitchen that takes up most of the bottom floor of our home and I'm surprised to see my mother with a smile on her face as she mixes another batch of bread.

She would be smiling on reaping day.

"Good morning, mother."

"Ah, Peeta. Always the first awake. You're fathers out in the shop - probably hording up with one of those vile rodents he's always sneaking off to trade for."

I decide not to comment on her small talk because it usually ends with me getting smacked for my trouble. Instead I find myself thinking of Katniss - who usually brings the squirrels to my father to trade for warm bread and I find my own smile. Beautiful Katniss who sings for the birds and takes care of her mother and young sister since her father's passing. I haven't allowed much time for fear or worry over the reaping but I feel a stir in my chest at the thought of Katniss.

Her name has definitely been entered into the reaping ball more times than mine and Jonah's put together and it makes every bit of control I have no to break out into a small panic for the girl. Anyone but her. Anyone but Katniss Everdeen.

"It was the Hawthorne boy that came knocking early this morning. Not the girl. Don't be stupid, Peeta. What would a girl like her ever see in you?"

That said mother returns to her mixing - never disappointing me with a word of kindness or a ray of hope for anything other than baking bread. Not even on the morning that her youngest son could be picked for The Hunger Games. I leave the kitchen as quietly as I entered and go to get ready for the day.

The Reaping Day is spent making yourself presentable for The Capital - washing away the soot and coal dirt and putting on your finest clothes so I do just that - getting yelled at by my older brother for not leaving any hot water for him, being scolded by my mother for not buttoning my shirt quickly enough. My father stays in the background for the majority of the day and I like to think that it bothers him - sending his two sons out to the slaughtering grounds but I don't know for sure. I'll never know for sure because we just aren't that close of a family.

Preacher Meriwether is standing at the church bell – giving two rings to announce that its two o'clock and time for everyone in District 12 to find their way to The Hall of Justice where The Mayor, our districts only surviving winner of the 50th Hunger Games, Haymitch Abernathy and the eccentric Effie Trinket await.

The next hour goes by in a blur. My mother doesn't weep like so many other mothers around her but my father gives me and Jonah a strong hug before we are instructed to go to the area assigned by our age. We stand in the sweltering heat for what seems like forever but I have to say it's not nearly as hot as my bedroom back home and I try to keep my thoughts on anything but the task at hand. If I can make it another thirty minutes then we'll be back at the bakery finishing up this morning's raisin bread. Just two more years to go and I'm safe – no longer eligible to compete in The Hunger Games. Perhaps then I can pursue Katniss Everdeen, start a relationship with her – show my mother that I do have a chance.

Before I can finish my thought her name rings out over the crowd. Primrose Everdeen and I feel my heart sink into my worn shoes. Wait, what? Primrose? Not Katniss? The little sister? My brain is working overtime to process this information – Primrose, the sweet little sister with her goat and that ugly cat she sometimes carries around town. She's not even old enough to be entered…

I lose all sense of thought or feeling – unable to move as I see Katniss grab her sister from the Peacekeepers and yell out, holding Primrose tightly behind her.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

Of course she would. I don't think there's many who would willingly let someone as small and sweet as Primrose go into The Hunger Games without a fight but I guess we'll never know because Katniss is up on the stage gaping at us like a fish out of water. I can only stare at her beautiful face – feeling any hope that I had for the future dissolve in her eyes. I follow suit as District 12 sends her off with three fingers to our lips before raising them in her direction and then Effie is clicking her heals over to the boys reaping ball.

She doesn't miss a beat – plucking the first piece of paper her fingers touch from the ball and unfolding it quickly. Effie gives a dramatic pause before parting her purple lips and saying, with a smile:

Peeta Mellark.


End file.
